White Flower
by
Disclaimer: Don’t own ‘em. Don’t wish I did. What a headache. *grin* However, I will play with ‘em. Joss & Co... I don’t envy you your jobs... Talk about a high standard to set and reach!
The Don’t Hit Me Cuz I Like Kennedy Too Clause: Okay, I know there’s a bunch of folks who are mightily pissed off at the Loss of Tara. I was rather upset too. However, being that Life Does Move Along, I’m not going to let myself wallow. So... does this mean that I think those who aren’t Kennedy fans are wallowing? Nope. To each their own.
So, with that said... If you’re of a mind that Willow and Tara are forever... go and read the Slayer Chronicles. :) otherwise, I hope you enjoy this little piece.
Razz the writer: shaych3@yahoo.com
***
Damn it. Gotta hurry. Don’t have too much time. Can’t get caught. The thoughts flashed through her mind as she dodged around three bushes, a tree and a couple making out on a crypt.
Oh, yuck. Way to romance her, bud. That’s just what I want to do on a dark night in the middle of a graveyard!
A prickling crawl at the back of her neck warned her that danger was close, though not so near that she needed to ditch her plan and race back to the group. Buffy had taught her that much, at least. Not that she didn’t have oodles and oodles more to learn, but hell – a time saver’s a time saver, especially when one’s on a mission.
It was still strange, though. A year ago, she’d have figured the constant ickies were less supernatural and more lack of mall crawlage.
Vivid images dusted the edges of her mind. Blood, the scent of fear, the thrill of the chase, and the laundry troubles all conspired to remind her that her life was forever changed. Never again would she walk through life spoiled and innocent.
Pale shafts of moonlight ghosted through the trees, partially illuminating the granite stone that thrust up from the earth at her feet. Sadness flooded her face as her fingertips traced the letters graven into the rock. Deep chisel marks spelled out a date of birth, a date of death, and a message of love. Then came the name, large letters, each stroke a wound of grief. A name not often spoken, but deeply felt.
Her name.
Tears burned in her eyes. She drew in a shuddering breath and knelt quickly, clinging to the stone for balance. I can do this. I have to do this.
From inside of her jacket, she drew out a spray of crushed flowers. The tiny, white blossoms were just slightly wilted, but their fragrance was still sweet and drifted up as she let them drizzle from her fingers over the ground.
“Um. Hi. Yeah. Well, I, uh, don’t know what to say. I mean, thank you seems so incredibly... crass. I wish,” warm tears threaded down her cheeks, “I wish that I could have met you, Tara. You must’ve been a hell of a woman. She loved you, you know. Loves you...always will, too.” A wry grin twisted up the corners of her mouth. “And, that’s cool.” She shrugged and patted the headstone gently. “I just... needed to say something. I guess I felt that I had to show you – show myself – that I’m okay with not being the first.” Kennedy laughed softly, a mildly self-deprecating sound. “She’s mine, though. My first. Oh, I know what you’re thinking. But honestly, the others don’t count. Not like this – not like her.” A wistful smile flooded Kennedy’s face. “But then, you knew... know that. So, anyway, I just wanted to say that I’m going to take care of her.” She shrugged again. “And who knows, maybe someday... we can work together.”
A muffled thud echoed through the graveyard. Explicatives in four languages followed. “Oh, that’s my cue. Gotta go. Duty calls.” She patted the gravestone once more, and then sprinted off into the darkness.
An owl, resting in a tree nearby, hooted in surprise at the sudden blossoming of a field of tiny white flowers.
fin
02/13/03